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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27098983">Hello, Stranger</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannahmayski/pseuds/Hannahmayski'>Hannahmayski</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Supernatural S1 codas [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Badass Winchesters, Episode: s01e01 Pilot, Gen, Season/Series 01, absolutely iconic, also the way dean was literally covered in mud when they booked that motel room, just obsessed with people looking at the winchesters and being like: I Am Scared, outside pov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-09 04:14:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,172</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27098983</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannahmayski/pseuds/Hannahmayski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Rory's seen some weird people come into his motel.</p><p>Still, when two kids come in - early to mid 20s, he thinks - one about as tall as the fucking door and the other covered head to die in thick, drying mud,<br/>they stick out to him - It's unusual.  More so than his usual level of weird.</p><p>(The events that led to Dean getting arrested in 1x01)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester &amp; Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Supernatural S1 codas [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1977949</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>93</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Hello, Stranger</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>No beta. We die like men.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rory's seen some weird people come into his motel.</p><p>It's low budget and even he'll admit the place is kind of a dump, but it gets him food on the table, so he doesn't complain, and not everyone can afford to pay for those fancy places with the buffets and fancy soaps.</p><p>So, he attracts an interesting crowd. Most of the time it’s mildly entertaining. The wannabe magician with the saddest looking cape he’s ever seen or the young couple backpacking across the country who’d underestimated the cost of constant travel to a devastating degree. </p><p>Still, when two kids come in - early to mid 20s, he thinks - one about as tall as the fucking door and the other covered head to die in thick, drying mud, they stick out to him - It's unusual.  More so than his usual level of weird.</p><p>He takes them both in. The taller one hunkers down, leaning in on himself like he's trying to make himself smaller. He still towers above his companion and positively <em>looms </em> over Rory.  He smiles softly at Rory in a sort of <em>no harm, no foul </em>sort of way like if Rory just pretends this event never happened, the both of them would be happier.</p><p>The other one drops a credit card onto the open guest book, reeking of drying river mud as he meets Rory's eyes. He doesn't think <em>cold  </em>is the right term to use, but he thinks the kid's not far from it. He looks them over a moment, and he sees old wrinkles on young faces. Two sets of tired eyes stare back at him. There are goose bumps on his skin, and he can’t pinpoint the reason.</p><p>He picks up the card, about to run it through, but he reads the name and stops.</p><p><em>Hector Aframian. </em>It’s such a weird name that Rory freezes in place.</p><p>"Aframian?" he asks, he sees the taller one tense, and all their attention on him and him only. He’s met with two faces made of stone. "You lot having a family reunion or something?"</p><p>And that other guy was weird too. He was big, all muscle kind of big, taking up more space in the office than he physically did. There were a set of thin old scars that ran down the right side of his face and dirt under his fingernails and bags under his eyes.</p><p>Rory doesn't ask questions, usually just lets people do their thing, but he hasn't seen the older fella in a while and the man booked that room for a whole month, and then to have these kids show up? It sets off alarm bells that he can't turn off.</p><p>The shorter one pauses, freezes in a way that Rory isn't sure how to interpret. He looks up at his companion – partner? Brother? - and they share a whole conversation in a few seconds.</p><p>"Something like that," the shorter one says<em>. Drop it</em>, Rory hears.</p><p>He doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone that’s ever made him think they were genuinely dangerous, but he thinks with these two, that’s exactly what he’s looking at. </p><p>Rory doesn't see them the rest of the day or that night. There're no complaints and no catastrophes to report. But the feeling doesn’t leave, and Rory keeps glancing out, finding excuses to walk past the room they booked. He's not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing that there doesn’t appear to be much going on inside.</p><p>He plays it down to himself as he goes to bed that night. There's no evidence that anything is actually happening. All he has in front of him are some weird people who could very well just be on the rough side of things and a gut feeling.</p><p>It doesn't make him feel any better.</p><p>He's up early the next morning, crisp air burning his nostrils and makes his old bones creak, but he trots on. There's a coffee shop a street away that will warm him up. It's overpriced, but the staff are nice and it's Rory's little indulgence for the day. The uneasy feeling persists, like the night gave it time to rest and grow, and he's halfway through convincing himself he's making a big deal out of nothing when he sees movement behind the curtain of the room he knows that the older man was renting out who <em>definitely </em>hasn't been there for a good few days.</p><p>He walks on, hands shoved into his pockets. He thinks of the recent missing persons case - Squires boy. Is it too much to be a coincidence, that these strangers are in town and people go missing?</p><p>Margery is at the counter when he walks in, dressed in the usual horrendous orange uniform that she despises so much as to tell him every other day he comes in. She looks a little weary, the darkness under her eyes accentuated by the bright red mess of hair. It seems to be the running theme lately, considering how he's fairing himself. </p><p>Margery shuffles along the counter to meet him, too stiff for someone so young, but she meets his gaze with a smile that's tired but definitely true.</p><p>"Mr. Tucker," she says, already moving to make his morning cup of coffee - the benefits of a small town.</p><p>"Morning Marg," he says. His voice sounds as wrecked as Marg looks.</p><p>"Did you hear about the fake FBI guys?" she asks, twisting the cap off the carton of milk and that makes Rory pause.</p><p>Whatever expression is on his face must be near comical, as Margery busts out a smile that's far closer to her usual attitude.</p><p>"Rumour has it some fellas have shown up about twice now claiming to be the FBI," she wiggles her fingers in the air like she's talking about the boogeyman. "But apparently their names don't check out!" She moves to the end of the store, grabbing something Rory can't see and moves back to face him.</p><p>"Can you believe that! Having the guts to pretend to be the FBI, gotta have a couple of screws loose for that."</p><p>"You know what they look like?" he asks and Margery shrugs, sliding the lid onto his cappuccino.</p><p>"Young fellas, I heard," She hands him the coffee, and he slides the money across the bench top.</p><p>"Look after yourself, Marg," He says, sliding from the bench and diligently ignores the cracks of old bones trying to bend.</p><p>He thinks about the boys in the wrong hotel room, the mysterious older man who's done a disappearing act and the curious timing around the disappearances of young boys and. Well.</p><p>He makes it back to the reception of the motel in record time, a little out of breath and aching, but the decision to dial the local police isn't really a question.</p><p> </p><p>(The next time he sees the shorter boy's face, he's on the news - wanted for the torture and murder of at least one woman.</p><p>Rory installs extra security and trusts everyone a little less.)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope you're all looking after yourselves. Stay safe &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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